


Made For This

by thekingslover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Hatred, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23725021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingslover/pseuds/thekingslover
Summary: There’s a war in Heaven, and Cas gets literally summoned to help fight. He’s gone for months, fighting, clawing, killing for causes he doesn’t really believe in anymore.This is what you were made for, Castiel,he’s told.We need you,they beg.The moment the war is done and the tether holding him there snaps, Cas flies to the only place he’s ever felt safe - the backseat of the Impala.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 125





	Made For This

There’s a war in Heaven, and Cas gets literally summoned to help fight. He’s gone for months, fighting, clawing, _killing_ for causes he doesn’t really believe in anymore. _This is what you were made for, Castiel_ , he’s told. _We need you_ , they beg.

The moment the war is done and the tether holding him there snaps, Cas flies to the only place he’s ever felt safe - the backseat of the Impala. He lands on leather seats, suddenly in human skin, charred feathers and fresh scars hidden beneath flesh, muscle, and bone.

The Impala is empty, parked in the garage of the bunker. He exits as a human would, and walks across the garage to the stairs. Human movements are slow and deliberate, weight balanced precariously from one foot to the next. It’d be so much easier to fly, faster, but he half never wants to fly again. Never wants to fight again, either.

_This is what you were made for._

He shakes his head, chasing away unwanted, lingering memories. Lives taken by his angelic body and blades. He shouldn’t be forgiven for all he’s done, _godly_ or no.

He makes his way to the library and stands, unsure, just inside. A few empty beer bottles sit atop the table. The chairs are pulled out.

They must have gone to bed hours ago. 

Looking at the clock, Cas tries to remember how time works outside of Heaven. The difference between night and day. Sleep and awake. Moving and standing still.

He could find them if he stretches out, but he won’t.

So he stands very still. Minutes or hours, he stands there. His power thrums deep inside, vibrating his human bones. His skin pulls too tight; with a sudden move, it could snap. His fingers clench and unclench, almost painful, so he clutches the back of one chair. It was Dean’s. A whisper of his warm soul remains.

For the first time, Cas takes a breath.

“It’s you,” Dean says, sleep rough and _beautiful_. Cas missed him to the depths of his being. He had forgotten how much, buried it deep inside under blood and anger and fear.

Cas looks at him, and is blinded by the brightness of Dean’s soul. He blinks his angelic senses back and looks again, as a human. Dean is no less perfect, freckles and messed hair and soft sweatpants and a robe. He’s smiling but his eyes are weary with dark bags beneath them. He looks at Cas like he’s not sure he’s real. Cas can’t comfort him because he’s not entirely sure himself.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, voice raw from disuse. He’s forcing blood through his human heart, but still his fingers are numb. He tightens his hold on the chair.

Dean’s smile widens a moment as he starts forward. The uncertainty clears from his eyes. Cas must be real then. Dean would know.

Wood splinters and cracks, and Dean stops suddenly. Cas looks down to the shattered debris. The chair in pieces, he holds only sawdust in his hands. He takes a step backwards.

Dean reaches a hand out, like that could stop Cas if he wished to leave. Oddly, though, it does. “It’s okay, Cas.”

“ _Dean_.” 

“It’s just a chair.”

But it wasn’t. Cas himself is there in the broken pieces, too damaged to be rebuilt.

_This is what you were made for._

Dean doesn’t move, so Cas doesn’t either. With no catalyst, he’d have to force himself to leave. He could no sooner walk away from Dean now than he could in the past. Always, he’d find his way back to this soul, one way or another. Life nor death could keep them apart. 

“What happened?” Dean asks, voice soft, nearly swallowed by the whirl of the air conditioner.

“A war.”

Dean sighs. The hand he held out, he now runs through his hair, messing it further, strands sticking out in all directions. “Guessed it had to be something like that.”

He’s lying.

But Cas isn’t sure why. 

“I was summoned,” Cas says carefully. The inner strumming of his power ebbs somewhat, focusing now instead on Dean, on the slouch to his shoulders, the curve of his neck, the wringing of his hands, the downcast angle of his gaze. “I was bound.”

Distantly, like a moment lived in another life, he remembers the press of searching lips to his own in the dark. Hands fisted around the lapels of his coat. The hard wall of a body pushing him against a wall. And him, letting himself be pushed. His fingers combing through short hair, making it wild. His mouth and tongue, returning the kiss with enthusiasm. _Too long,_ he remembers thinking. _Too long have we waited for this._

He hadn’t forgotten the kiss, but pushed it away, buried it down deep. Nothing he’d done in the past months was worthy of touching that moment. Even now, Cas feels unclean, marring it.

Dean huffs out a sharp exhale. “Heaven’s full of assholes.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees. He looks down at his hands, still covered in sawdust. He rubs them against the sides of his coat. “They told me I was made for war.”

Dean curses. “So they’re liars too.”

“Yes,” Cas says, less certain. He’s too efficient a killer for it not to be true. He feels the heavy weight of Dean’s scrutiny before he even looks up, but soon he finds those green eyes studying every inch of him.

A moment, then Dean starts forward, suddenly determined. Cas blinks, both surprised and not surprised by the movement, half thinking they might stand there forever looking at each other, afraid the fragile standoff might end in misery but praying it would end in something else. He won’t move away, though. Far too late for that.

Dean walks to his space but doesn’t touch him. He waits, patience in every slow movement, in every long moment. Finally, he asks, “Cas?”

Cas nods, can’t stop nodding until Dean’s hands cup his neck, thumbs over his jawline resting in the hollow of his cheeks. “You weren’t made for war, Cas,” Dean says so earnestly _,_ Cas is helpless but to trust.

He wants to shake his head, to argue, to look away - only he doesn’t, and won’t. Locked under Dean Winchester’s attentive gaze, prisoner under the heat of his calloused hands, Cas would sooner surrender himself to the gates of Hell than ruin this… _everything._

Dean draws him closer, and Cas moves willingly. Dean brushes a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. A whine breaks from Cas’s throat, alien to his ears. He had not been touched with kindness since he was taken from Dean’s bed, his arms, with his head resting on Dean’s chest counting his heartbeats.

Cas turns into Dean’s lips and claims them with his own. A touch born in softness grows stronger. A fire sparks and burns hot. It’s too much, too quickly, and Cas pulls away even as he clutches Dean’s robe like a vice.

He drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder, and Dean holds him. He holds him, and Cas cries.

_You were made for this,_ Dean’s soul sings into his being, circling and healing Cas’s battered angelic glow. _You were made for love._

Not the truth, but close. Much closer than the lies of Heaven.

“No, Dean,” Cas says, as his tears take on new life. No longer of sorrow and loss and pity, they now speak happiness and hope. Love. “I was made for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr [thekingslover.tumblr.com](https://thekingslover.tumblr.com).


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